Committed
by Lacadiva
Summary: Mulder, Kersh, Skinner and Scully free Doggett from an insane asylum shortly after he discovers the truth about Aliens. A “prequel” to my story, “Undocumented.” No need to read it to get this, but please go read it anyway.


COMMITTED (1/1)  
  
by Lacadiva  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Category: Doggett Angst/Scully/Mulder Friendship/Pre- Colonization/Invasion  
  
Disclaimer: All things X-Files belongs to Fox and Ten Thirteen. No copyright infringement intended. Boy, to I miss that show.  
  
Archive: I'd be honored. Just write me and let me know.  
  
Feedback: Love it. Send it. Pleeze.  
  
Summary: Mulder, Skinner and Scully free Doggett from an insane asylum shortly after he discovers the truth about Aliens. A "prequel" to my story, "Undocumented." No need to read it to get this, but please go read it anyway.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"What strength do I have, that I should still hope?"  
  
Job 6:11  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
TODAY  
  
11:21 am  
  
He sat stiff as a proverbial board, unmoving, unmotivated, in a chair that was older than him. He could feel the lumpiness of old foam and cotton stuffing against his back from a poor re-upholstering job, and rusted springs pushing against the thinning fabric, biting into the back of his left thigh.  
  
Doggett had not shaved in days, so that fine blond and whitish hairs had formed unruly whiskers about his chin and cheeks and a stubbly mustache over his lip that made his face seem to glow in the harsh, institutional light. His hair, equally unkempt, had become limp greasy spikes from nights spent sweating through drug-induced nightmares and fever dreams. The nightmares had actually begun long before he was forcibly committed to this snake pit asylum. And they would stay with him until the day he died.  
  
He saw their ship.  
  
He was inside.  
  
They almost caught him.  
  
He could no longer deny it.  
  
Doggett felt the cigarette between his fingers begin to burn. He could not bring himself to respond. Part of it was the medication. Part of it was deliberate - the pain let him know he was still alive. It was proof that he was still clinging to some kind of sanity. He managed to look down at his burning fingers, with eyes that were clouded, red-rimmed and tear-filled, threatening to spill down his cheek but never making it.  
  
Haunted.  
  
He hardly recognized his own face in the mirror. They had done this to him. He knew who he was before the ships came. He knew a few days ago, but now he only knew doubt.  
  
Special.  
  
Agent.   
  
John.  
  
Doggett.   
  
FBI.  
  
Words with no true meaning behind them. Words that would not free him from this place.  
  
He brought the cigarette up to his thin, dry lips and pulled. Even the smooth, warm satisfaction of the nicotine failed to break through the drug haze. Haldol? Thorazine? Something more sinister in its potency? He feared mind-control. Was he being paranoid? Or was he being paranoid enough?  
  
Ash dropped into his lap. He made no move to brush it out. He felt old, old and tired, and wished this could just be over. How long had he been here now? A week? Six months? A year? He stopped keeping track very early on. The drugs made it difficult to distinguish time. Day melted into evening, which melted into day. You slept, you took your meds, you floated until time to sleep again. You sit in groups and listen while others drone through painful, agonizing stories of abuse and neglect and violence. All the while wanting to EXPLODE - NONE OF THIS MATTERS! THEY'RE HERE! But to do so would mean strait jackets, injections, padded rooms and round-the-clock milky yellow light from a naked bulb that always seemed to sway just a little. Why tell them they're here? They'll all know soon enough.  
  
Doggett stamped out the cigarette butt with a hand that had picked up a barely perceptible tremor. His hands had always been so sure, rock-steady, through all his years in law enforcement. In New York, as a cop, he had been through every hellish nightmare you could lump on a police officer, and survived. No matter the situation, no matter the danger, the gun in his hand was always held solid, unwavering. But only in the last couple of years had he detected a change.   
  
When he was forced into the X Files.   
  
He never knew what he was walking into anymore. Shoot-outs and drive-by's paled by comparison to the horrors he'd seen. Such evil. And now to know, to realize that despite all the frightening things he'd seen, there is something truly worse, beyond comprehension, beyond what he could even begin to imaging...  
  
"John Doggett."  
  
He heard his name, but it took a second or two to for it to register, for him to realize that the voice had come from outside his head.  
  
"Yeah," he said in a raspy voice, looking up at the very tall, very pale Orderly that stood in front of him.  
  
"You got a visitor."  
  
Doggett felt fear ripple through his belly, felt a tingle begin at the back of his neck, and make its way down his spine.   
  
"Who?"  
  
"Some guy. George Hale?"  
  
"Never heard of him."  
  
"He knows you. Let's go."  
  
Doggett didn't move, refused to stand up.   
  
"Tell him to kiss my -"  
  
Before he could finish, the Orderly reached down and wrapped his thick, beefy fingers around Doggett's upper arm and pulled the agent out of the chair. Doggett tried to fight him, but the drugs made it difficult for him to command his body to do much more than submit to the strength of the Orderly.  
  
"No," Doggett protested. But he was already being lead away, dragged down the ugly industrial green corridor, past other patients roaming the hall under the influence of miracle meds, to the visiting room.  
  
This had to be a set-up, Doggett thought.  
  
Seconds later, he was pushed into the visiting room, and the door was shut.   
  
Strange - there was no one else in the room. No patients, no visitor. Just a few scattered empty chairs, and an old fifty's style Formica table, not quite beige, not quite yellow. No way out but the door he had come through, which was no doubt guarded by the beefy Orderly. Windows nailed shut, reinforced with chicken wire.   
  
It had to be a set up.  
  
Or maybe it would be Scully.  
  
He had a major bone to pick with her. Where was she when Kersh was signing the commitment order? Why hadn't she come to his aid? Why hadn't she come to visit until now, or lifted a finger to help him? Was she part of the grand conspiracy that had put him away where he couldn't tell the world what he'd seen, what he now believed? If he spoke of space ships and alien beings here, no one would think anything of it. Maybe Scully was finally going to set things right and get him out of here.  
  
What if it wasn't Scully?  
  
The doorknob turned. Fear seeped into his bones like icy water soaking through his clothing, making him shudder.  
  
Doggett took a step back, looking for something he could use as a weapon. Nothing. He reached for the back of a chair. If they were coming for him, he would sling the chair as hard has his battered body would allow and run like hell. He may not make it, but at least he would go down fighting.  
  
The door opened. At first there was merely shadow. Dogged lifted the chair an inch from the floor.  
  
A tall man entered. Dark hair, from what Doggett could see.   
  
He had wished so hard it was Scully. He could use a smile from that delicate face right now.  
  
The visitor spoke.   
  
"What's shaking, John?"  
  
Doggett's eyes nearly popped out of his head. His mouth dropped open.  
  
"Muldah!" he cried. "What're you doin' here?"  
  
"Breaking your butt out of here."  
  
* * *  
  
"What're we waitin' for?" Doggett cried, heading for the door. "Let's go!"  
  
"Easy!" Mulder said softly, holding up a hand, to both stop Doggett and urge him to quiet his tone of voice. "We've got time."  
  
Mulder looked at his watch to be sure.  
  
"Sit down," he said.  
  
Doggett, never taking his eyes off of Mulder, sat down opposite him at the Formica table.  
  
"Who the hell is George Hale?" Doggett asked.  
  
"Long story. We don't have that much time. You okay? What'd they do to you?"  
  
Doggett ran a hand over his stubbly face.   
  
"Mostly drugs. I dunno what kind. The kind that make you lose track of time. The kind that makes you want to give up, give in, let 'em do whatever they want."  
  
Now the tears that were merely threatening to fall before boldly spilled down his reddening cheeks. Too much, too soon.  
  
Mulder graciously looked away, as if suddenly the room was very important to him, to give Doggett a moment to pull it together.  
  
Doggett wiped the tears away, cleared his throat and took a deep breath.  
  
"I hafta say," he choked out, "your mug was the last mug I expected to see."  
  
"Scully thought you might appreciate it."  
  
"She okay?"  
  
"She's..."  
  
Now it was Mulder's turn to have a moment.  
  
"What? Is it William?"  
  
"I'll fill you in later," was all Mulder was willing to say about it.  
  
"Is the baby okay?"  
  
"When we get out. I'll tell you everything."  
  
Doggett decided to let it go. For now.  
  
"Where you been, Mulder?"  
  
"Hiding out."  
  
"Is it safe for you to be here?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Look, don't go risking your neck for me."  
  
"Too late. Agent Doggett, I need to know what you saw."  
  
Every ounce of available color drained from Doggett's face. His icy blue eyes locked with Mulder's, never blinking as he spoke.  
  
"I keep trying to tell myself it's a dream. But it ain't. All that talk about alien invasions and space ships, abductees and bounty hunters, it's all true."  
  
Mulder wanted to smile. But he couldn't. He knew the depth of Doggett's fear.   
  
"You saw the ship?" Mulder asked.  
  
"Saw it? Hell, Muldah, I was inside the mutha. It was like nothin' I ever seen, like nothin' on Earth."  
  
"Did you seem them?"  
  
"See? No. No. I felt them. I heard them, in my head. I knew when they were coming. Somehow, I knew what they were going to do to me if they found me. I dunno how but I found a hatch and climbed outta that sucker and ran like hell.  
  
"I filed my report with Kersh, put it all in there. Everything. Half an hour later the bozos in the white coats show up with commitment papers. Kersh gave the okay. They brought me here. I don't even know what day it is or how long it's been."  
  
"No more lost weekend for you."   
  
Mulder looked down at his watch again.  
  
"It's time."  
  
"So what's the plan, Mulder?"  
  
"Plan?" Mulder asked, and stood up.  
  
* * *  
  
Mere seconds later the door to opened and a tall Orderly quickly entered. It wasn't the Orderly John had seen before. This guy was Black, very tall, and very familiar.  
  
"Let's roll, Mulder," the Orderly said.  
  
"Kersh?" Doggett couldn't say much more than that.  
  
Mulder gave Doggett a shove, encouraging him to get move. All three men were high-tailing down the corridor, watching carefully for anyone who might spot them or attempt to stop them. They made it all the way to the security door, which could only be opened by a card-key.  
  
"Step back," demanded Kersh, and pulled a card from the back pocket of the uniform he had pilfered from some orderly that was no doubt laying unconscious in a locked utility closet somewhere. He slid the card through the door and waited for the indicator light to glow green.  
  
It remained red.  
  
"What's the problem?" Mulder asked impatiently.  
  
"Dang key doesn't work," Kersh spat, trying the key over and over again.   
  
Mulder gave the man a nudge and took the key, trying it himself. It wouldn't work. He tried again. Same result.  
  
"You know the definition of insanity?" Doggett asked, now nudging Mulder out of the way? "It's doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result."   
  
Doggett reached inside the jacket Mulder was wearing a found his gun. He aimed at the door and fired, instigating the scream of the alarm system. The kick from the gun nearly sent Doggett to the floor in his drug-weakened condition. Mulder caught him, righted him, took his gun back, then gave the door an kick, which cracked and splintered the rest of the old wood and allowed them enough space to squeeze through.  
  
Orderlies with batons were waiting on the other end, but they easily backed down when they saw Mulder's gun.   
  
They continued past the front desk where a Receptionist in white was already on the phone with the police, and hollering in vain for the escapee and his accomplices to stop.  
  
Doggett felt light-headed - things were moving so fast. He had not eaten in recent memory, and the weakness overcame him. Just as a van, tires screaming, pulled up to the curb in front of him, Doggett felt himself starting to go.  
  
The side panel door slid open fast. And there was Scully, like an angel...  
  
"Get the hell inside!" She shouted. Doggett could help but smile before he passed out in Mulder's arms.  
  
* * *  
  
Doggett woke up, feeling the world moving and jostling around him. His eyes had a hard time focusing. Something was hurting the back of his left hand. He looked over to find an i.v. needle invading him, and a tube that coiled upward to a half-empty bag of clear fluid.   
  
"You were dehydrated," said a calm voice. Calmer than earlier at least. "You're going to be fine."  
  
"How you doin', Agent Scully?"  
  
"Fine," she said. He knew she was lying. He's never seen Scully look so exhausted before. So disconnected.  
  
"Is it William?"  
  
"Not now," she said quietly. "I'll tell you later."  
  
"Why does everybody keep promising to tell me later? What's going on?"  
  
"When I know more," she promised, "I'll tell you."  
  
He wanted so badly to pursue it, to convince her to talk, but something made him pull back, and let her tell him her way, and in her time. He at least owed her that after she had put her neck on the line and rescued him from hell.  
  
Doggett reached up with his free hand and rubbed his face.   
  
"Are you in pain?" Scully asked, crouching down closer to him to examine him. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the hollowness of her cheeks.  
  
"No," said Doggett. "I just want to make sure I'm here."  
  
"You are."  
  
"Good. Where is here?"  
  
"Heading north on 95. You want to sit up?"  
  
Doggett didn't have time to answer before Scully had reached down to help pull him into a sitting position. He could tell that she'd lost weight, that her small frame was being reduced to skin and bones.  
  
"You wanna let me in on what happened? How long was I in there? And why."  
  
"You want the long version, or the short?"  
  
"I don't got no place to be right now."  
  
Scully cleared her throat before she began.   
  
"It began with the ship."  
  
"I remember."  
  
"You filed your report with Kersh. He tried to make it disappear. Apparently someone got wind of what you saw..."  
  
"Putting you, me, and Mulder in danger."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I wasn't thinking to clearly."  
  
"You told the truth."  
  
"I see how the FBI values the truth."  
  
"Anyway," Scully continued, "when Kersh got wind that your life was in jeopardy, he arranged for the commitment. It was a smoke screen. Not a very good one, I'll admit, but it succeeded in getting you out of harm's way and bought us all a little time."  
  
"So that was Kersh who busted into the nut house with Mulder and sprung me. I thought I was hallucinating. What side is he on, any way?"  
  
"Ours, so it appears. I don't know how far to trust him, but right now, we don't have a choice."  
  
Doggett drew a deep breath, enjoying the musty smell of the van, which, after the asylum, smelled like freedom.  
  
"So, where are we going now? What's next?"  
  
"Now, we go to a safe house that Mulder's arranged. He asked that I keep an eye on you."  
  
"Where is Mulder?"  
  
"Oh..." Scully began, then took a deep breath. He could tell, even in the pale light of the van, that she was struggling to hold back tears.   
  
"Mulder thought it best that we scatter for now. Not all stay together. Kersh has to keep up appearances at FBI headquarters. He's all we have on the inside now."  
  
"Who's driving the van?"   
  
"I am," came a gruff voice from the driver's seat. Doggett leaned and craned his neck until he could see the driver's reflection in the rear view mirror. It was Skinner.  
  
"Wow. I'm getting the VIP treatment here."  
  
"Well, don't get used to it, Agent Doggett. As soon as you're better, we'll be splitting up as well. Mulder was very specific about what we're to do."  
  
"We? As in me, too? I'm a part of this little anti-alien inner circle now?"  
  
"You always have been. Since the first day I met you, it was inevitable. Believe it or not, you've become valuable to the initiative."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"Fight the future. Rest now, Agent Doggett. You're going to need your strength. And so will we."  
  
Doggett allowed Scully to help him lie back down. He soon drifted off to sleep and began to dream.  
  
They're here. They're here. They're here.  
  
The End  
  
Thank you for your kind attention. Feedback is greatly desired.   
  
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